


Torque

by sequence_fairy



Category: Bleach
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2018-10-09 12:51:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10412538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: The neon-soaked nighttime streets of Tokyo: home to an underground of fast cars and bad choices — the kind that can get you killed. Being in the wrong place at the right time gives upcoming driver Ichigo Kurosaki the chance to immerse himself in the seedy and cordite-laced world of high-powered backroom deals and rain-slick asphalt. Soon, Ichigo will have to make a lethal choice, and see if his skill behind the wheel can save his own life, let alone hers.





	1. Drive It Like You Stole It

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to the IRBB Writer’s Chat for putting up with me nattering about this constantly and being the most encouraging people on the entire planet, and to [@gunnerpalace](http://gunnerpalance.tumblr.com) for being a masterful (and patient!) beta, and for the original impetus of this fic, as it rose from a conversation we had about the movie Drive and several other things besides. You’ve been solidly in my corner through this, and I really appreciate you. <3 
> 
> Immense thanks as well to my artist partner, [@leohzy](http://leohzy.tumblr.com), who was the best possible person to illustrate this fic, and whose art is one of my favourite things on this earth. Her art can be found [here](http://leohzy.tumblr.com/post/158727319850/no-one-is-ever-just-the-driver-ichigo).

The city is alive at night, neon-soaked and rain-slicked. The steering wheel is warm under Ichigo’s hands and he waits, counting heartbeats until the flag swings down. His foot hits the floor. Tires scrabble for purchase on the wet pavement before they find their grip. The transfer of power to the road punches Ichigo back against his seat.

The engine whines as it hits the higher end of the tachometer, nearly into the redline before Ichigo slams the transmission through its first gear change. Beneath him, the tone of the revs changes and Ichigo pushes the tachometer into the red again before shifting the second time. The speedometer climbs and Ichigo can hear nothing over the roar of the engine, can feel nothing aside from the vibrations that rattle through the chassis and up into his seat. The next shift is smooth as butter and Ichigo grins. The night slides by him in a rush of lit up glass.

His nearest opponent is hard on his tail as they hit the first turn, and Ichigo takes it recklessly fast. Adrenaline zings through his veins as the car fights him through the corner, tires slipping on damp asphalt. He white-knuckles the steering wheel. Braking now will throw him into a tailspin; Ichigo puts his foot into the turn, cranking the wheel and letting the centrifugal force of the car pull it through the curve.

He hits the straight doing somewhere north of a hundred miles an hour, and the city is a blur outside the tinted windows of the car. There is nothing else in this moment - there is only the car, there is only the race, there is only the beat of his heart and the rush of his blood.

Ichigo sends the car into a drift around the next corner, tires squealing and the smell of hot brakes tickling the back of his nose. He narrowly avoids a collision with a civvie making a left at the light he’s just blown through, and the close call sweetens the taste of victory when he crosses the line a full four seconds ahead of the other car.

Ichigo kills the engine and sits in the now silent cocoon of his car, ignoring the crushing crowd of spectators that have rushed forward to congratulate him. Eventually, he can put it off no longer. He unfolds himself from the car and gets out, lifting a hand to acknowledge the cheers of the assembled crowd.

“How ‘bout that? What a ride for the new kid!” A large hand clamps down on Ichigo’s shoulder and he stumbles forward.

“Ease off Abarai,” Ichigo mutters, turning to the tattooed redhead.

Renji grins wolfishly before ruffling Ichigo’s hair.

“Hey!” Ichigo pats down his hair, now in hopeless disarray. “Fuck off, I said.”

“Take a pill, Kurosaki,” Renji says, and they fall into step beside each other as Ichigo heads off to collect his winnings. Another race is beginning and Ichigo pauses to listen to the sound of the start. The crunch and stutter of a missed gear shift makes them both wince. They wait until the sounds of both cars have faded into the distance before continuing.

“Arisawa’s racing tonight?”

“Yeah,” Renji says, then he leans in conspiratorially. “Your girl’s pretty good behind the wheel.”

“She’s not ‘my girl’, Abarai - she’s just a friend. We grew up together. For chrissakes, she’s like, I dunno, my little sister.” Ichigo makes a face and rubs the back of his neck. “And anyway, she’d kick my ass for even thinking it.”

Renji barks out a laugh and Ichigo can’t help the lopsided smile that turns up the corner of his mouth.

Ichigo has just pocketed his winnings - a million and a half yen - when the call goes up through the crowd. _Cops._ Both Ichigo and Renji take off running. Ichigo’s car is closest so they pile in and Ichigo turns the key. The engine fires and all at once, Ichigo feels more at ease. Renji can pick up his bike once the police clear out. Ichigo peels out and makes a quick left down a side street that should keep them out of the heat.

It’s the wrong choice and the red and blue lights in Ichigo’s rearview make him swear.

“We’ve got company,” Renji says, looking over his shoulder.

“I _know_ ,” Ichigo grouses, then tosses his phone at Renji. It lands in the other man’s lap. “Make yourself fucking useful and find us a way out.”

They lead the lone cruiser on a merry chase, until Ichigo catches a break on one of the freeways. He uses a semi truck for cover and zips out of reach of their pursuer, before taking the next exit and doubling back, heading out to the western edges of the city.

It’s nearly dawn when Ichigo sneaks himself and Renji into the house through his father’s clinic. Ichigo tosses Renji a blanket and points him to the couch.

Renji collapses and is asleep almost immediately.

Ichigo goes upstairs, hides his money, undresses and stretches out on his bed. Sleep eludes him though, and he lies awake until the sound of his father finding Renji on the couch wakes up the rest of the house.

Yuzu makes breakfast for everyone and Renji eats enough for three people before Ichigo manages to shoo him out of the house. “I’ll be back later, Dad!” Ichigo calls, grabbing his coat and his keys before following Renji out. The door shuts behind them both, cutting off his father’s response.

“Thank your sister for breakfast,” Renji says as they get back into Ichigo’s car. There’s something in Renji’s tone that makes Ichigo turn to look at his friend. Renji waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Ichigo balls up a fist and punches him, hard, in the shoulder. “Hey!” Renji protests, clutching his arm protectively. “What the hell was that for?”

“She’s my sister, you ass,” Ichigo says, and backs them down the drive and steers them back towards where Renji parked his bike the night before.

“She’s hot is what she is,” Renji says, entirely unrepentant. Ichigo looks over at him. Renji has a hair tie in his hands and is piling his hair into a tail on the top of his head. Seeing his opportunity, Ichigo brakes hard, throwing Renji forward. The redhead very nearly faceplants into the dash, but manages to catch himself. “Hey asshole,” Renji gripes, “watch your fucking braking.”

Ichigo glares at him. “Don’t talk about my sister like that!”

“I’ll talk about her how I like. What are you gonna do about it anyway, puppy?”

“I’ll fucking kick your ass,” Ichigo threatens, and Renji laughs.

“I’d like to see you try.” Renji finishes putting up his hair and raises an eyebrow at Ichigo, who ignores him in favour of changing lanes. “I’m just teasing, Jesus, Kurosaki, you’d think no one’s ever teased you before.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Ichigo answers, but this time, he merges smoothly into traffic. They make good time back to the starting line for last night’s race.

Ichigo slows as they approach. Both of them keep an eye out for cars that don’t belong, hoping the cops haven’t hung around to see who comes back the next day.

Nothing seems amiss, and Ichigo pulls up beside the alley where the taller man had ditched his ride the night before.

“Thanks, man,” Renji says, before he gets out of the car. “You gonna be at the race next weekend?”

Ichigo screws up his face. This weekend’s race is higher stakes than he usually wants to risk - pink slips - but there’s also rumours that some of the big shot racers will be there, and if Ichigo wants a chance to make his name properly in this underground he belongs to, he’ll have to show up and show them up.

“I dunno,” he finally says, and Renji shrugs.

“Well, whatever. Call me if you wanna go up together.” Renji gets out of the car and Ichigo waits until he hears the sputtering rumble of Renji’s motorbike before shifting his car out of park and driving away.

That night, Ichigo, in a fit of paranoia, parks his car in the garage and stays in. He helps Yuzu with dinner, and watches a third of a soccer game with Karin. His father bustles about, closing the clinic for the night and then heading out for Sunday night bowling with one of his old colleagues from the hospital.

When Ichigo goes upstairs after Yuzu insists he doesn’t need to help with the dishes, he actually does his homework - writes an essay about narrative devices in impressionist poetry, and finishes the readings for his Japanese history class up to three weeks from now. He does the math assignment that’s due in a week and skims through the chapters in his chemistry textbook he should have read over the last month. He’s picking half-heartedly at research for a paper for his social psychology seminar when he hears the sirens.

There are always sirens at night – the Tokyo metropolitan area is the biggest in the world – and even though Karakura is a relatively quiet part of it, Ichigo can always count on hearing the wail of some siren, somewhere. These are close and, in his relatively extensive experience, they are police sirens. He gets up, shuffles across his bed, and pulls his window open further.

They get closer still, and now Ichigo can make out the whine of an engine being pushed to its limit. They must be a number of blocks away still. Ichigo pulls out his phone, keeping half an ear on the noise outside, and scrolls through his twitter feed. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, the Tokyo police force traffic detachment will give information about current traffic disruptions. There’s a screech of tires and Ichigo winces. His thumb pauses on his phone’s screen and everything seems to hush.

The moment hangs. Ichigo forgets to breathe.

The crunch and squeal of metal on metal is unmistakable, even at this distance. He’s already pulling on his sweater by the time the phone in the clinic rings.

His father’s not back from bowling, and Ichigo thunders down the stairs to answer the phone. He’s not certified in anything but first aid, but the dispatcher doesn’t know his voice from his father’s and she won’t hear his protests as she gives him the details - single vehicle, bring a burn kit, major injuries, police on scene - and Ichigo gives up trying. He dials his father on his way out the door, holding his cellphone up to his ear while slinging the red emergency kit and the grey burn kit into the passenger seat of his car.

“Dad, call me back - emergency. I’m going to the scene.” Ichigo rattles off the intersection and then ends the call and backs down the driveway. By the time he gets there, Isshin is already there.

“There you are, Ichigo!” his father yells. “Saw the lights on the way home, thought they might have called the clinic.”

Ichigo hands him the burn kit while slinging the emergency kit over his shoulder.

Isshin stops him before they get too close. He has a more serious expression than Ichigo has ever seen before. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to get any closer - this is going to be bad.”

Ichigo shrugs his father’s hand off his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Isshin nods.

They cross the police line, and Ichigo smells burning flesh in the air. He gags. The car is an absolute wreck - and still smouldering. It is - it was - some kind of sporty hatchback, and Ichigo wonders if he knows the driver. What’s left of it has clearly been modified - Ichigo notes the ice blue paint on the parts of the body that the fire didn’t get.

Isshin steers him towards where the firefighters have laid the driver out on a backboard and Ichigo fights down rising bile in the back his throat. He does know the driver, that white hair is unmistakable. So are those piercing blue eyes, staring blankly up at the sky.

“Too late,” one of the firemen says, and Isshin bows his head. It starts to rain.


	2. Fistful of Silence

There are no more races that week.

Ichigo supposes it’s both out of respect for Hitsugaya’s death, and probably also to give everyone time to cool off. The chatter on the message boards is divided sharply between people who think that revenge is a dish best served at high speed and those who are calling for level-headedness.

While not one to start a fight, Ichigo can relate to those who are encouraging a more radical reaction.

The week passes, in a blur of classes, after-school hangouts with friends he doesn’t see as often as he should and the evenings down at Renji’s garage, tuning engines to the sound of whatever demo tapes Renji’s picked up that week from the studio. They swap (in Renji’s case, vulgar) stories about the girls who hang around at the driver meetups, and Ichigo tosses a spanner in his direction when the talk turns particularly bawdy - Renji’s imagined woman seems to bear a strange and pointed resemblance to Yuzu.

Renji yelps and barely evades the tool that comes at him. He retaliates by lobbing a grease-splattered rag at Ichigo, who catches it with his face. Renji freezes. Silence reigns for all of half a second before Ichigo is lunging across the floor and Renji makes a laughing run for it.

Once Ichigo runs out of things to throw at Renji that won’t outright kill him, they collapse on the hood of an old beater in the yard out back, staring up at the sky.

“You know,” Renji says, and Ichigo turns his head. His friend is limned by the spill of city lights across the backlot. “I never said, but I’m sorry about Hitsugaya. I know he was your friend.”

Ichigo turns to look at the sky. Hitsugaya _had_ been his friend, had been a _good_ friend even, but, well - they’d grown apart over the last couple of years. Beside him, Renji fidgets and underneath them, the car’s ancient chassis creaks. The sky is clouded over, and the city lights reflect back in an almost eerie glow.

They are quiet for a long time before Renji rolls off the hood onto his feet, and Ichigo pushes himself up to sit. The hood has warmed beneath his ass, but it’s still cold under his hands. His breath fogs the air when he exhales on a sigh.

“C’mon,” Renji says, and starts walking back towards the warmth of the garage.

Ichigo follows behind him, slowly.

It’s easy enough to imagine that Hitsugaya’s fate could have been his own. There’ve been many close calls in his racing career: stupid civvies, persistent cops, and a _very_ bad night on a closed freeway in the rain - Ichigo still gets goosebumps thinking about the way his tires had lost the road entirely and he’d been completely at the mercy of inertia with the concrete barrier coming at him in a deadly kind of hurry. He is sure it was some kind of divine intervention that allowed his tires to grab the road again, and that there was still time to wrench the wheel and hit the brakes and end up only kissing the concrete with the front quarter panel.

He’d sat in his car after that for nearly twenty minutes, shaking and unable to let go of the steering wheel. When he’d finally felt stable enough to drive, he’d made it another quarter mile before he was hitting the brakes again, throwing open his door and vomiting up everything he’d eaten for the last twenty-four hours. He hadn’t stopped trembling for another forty-five minutes.

He’d managed, just barely, to get home, had parked the car and then snuck back into the house. He hadn’t slept. Every time he’d closed his eyes, all he could see was the onrush of the barrier, all he could hear was the squeal of his tires and the rhythmic slap of his wipers counting down his last moments.

Ichigo hadn’t driven for nearly three weeks after that, convinced that the next time he got in his car was going to be the last. It wasn’t until Renji had bullied him down to the garage and stuck him behind the wheel of a beater in the backlot, and insisted that he “just drive already. Seriously, Kurosaki, get back on the goddamn horse,” that Ichigo had put his foot down to the mat and left a cloud of dust in his wake. Renji’s whoop of triumph rang in his ears.

Later that night, Ichigo had gotten into his own car, turned the key and eased it down the driveway. He’d driven down the road a ways, to the corner where his mother had been hit. There, he’d pulled around the corner, to the little park they’d used to walk to, from which they’d been walking home that night. He’d sat in his parked car, eyes burning and throat clogged with a hot swell of grief, remembering.

It hadn’t been raining when they’d left for the park, and they’d played for a long time before it had started. Ichigo remembers his mother taking his hand when the sky had turned dark, remembers the rain-washed city lights, and the susurration of car tires as they’d passed them by on the sidewalk. He remembers his mother stopping at the crosswalk, remembers the way her hand had tightened around his as she’d stepped off the curb, and her smile, bright and blinding as always. After that, it’s a confused loop of too bright lights, too loud sounds, the smell of wet pavement and the chilling emptiness of his hand. He woke up in the hospital, his arm in a cast, and his mother gone forever.

He’d overheard the nurses talking about what a miracle it was that he’d survived, that his mother had had time to throw him out of the way, that his arm was only broken because he’d landed on it, that otherwise, he was completely unscathed.

They never caught the driver.

Now, remembering another night with a close call, Ichigo wonders if it was divine intervention that kept him from becoming an indelible stain on the concrete barrier -  wonders, as he looks up at the low clouds that cover the sky, if she’s been watching over him from the time he was nine. The chain around his neck seems to tighten, and Ichigo brings a hand up to his chest, to feel the _kotsu-anzen_ charm under his shirt. The round medal feels warm against his skin, and Ichigo closes his eyes, offering a brief note of thanks to whomever might be listening that he has, so far, managed to avoid Hitsugaya’s fate.

Renji chooses that moment to stick his head back out the door. His call of: “Hey, fucker, what are you doing? We got places to be!” disturbs Ichigo’s reverie.

Ichigo jostles Renji goodnaturedly when he pushes past him at the doorway.

The funeral is held a week after the crash and is well attended by both sides of Hitsugaya Toshiro’s life. When he wasn’t finding parts no one else could or running interference against whoever needed to be messed with, Hitsugaya had been studying glaciology, with a particular interest in ice floes in the Antarctic. The day is sunny, clear, and cold. Ichigo stands, in his somber suit, apart from the other mourners, Renji to his left. They are the first to turn away after the coffin is lowered.

Renji hosts the wake at the garage, and Ichigo gets blind drunk on cheap whiskey and takes one of the car bunnies upstairs. Her plush curves are the perfect counterpoint to all the sharp edges he seems to be made of lately and he wakes up alone the next morning, his head pounding and his eyes gritty.

Renji feeds him and sends him home, managing to restrain himself to only one or two jabs about the company Ichigo is keeping these days.

It’s not until nearly two weeks later that Ichigo gets behind the wheel of his car with the intent to push it to the limit yet again.


	3. Shining Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to Dux for the beta. I complain a lot, but you always help.

Race nights are special – there’s something almost electric in the air, in his blood. His heart throbs and pumps adrenaline through him; it sets his senses alight and makes his skin tingle. He’s missed this – the engine rumble,the hiss of NOS. He checks his gauges and runs through his usual ritual. He presses a hand to his chest to feel the bite of his pendant against his skin, then flicks his eyes up to the picture of his sisters shoved into the sun visor.

Tonight’s an easy circuit down near the docks; its only complication is Ichigo’s opposition. On his left is Tatsuki Arisawa - his childhood best friend, nearly as good behind the wheel as she is with boxing gloves on her fists. On his right is a newcomer – Ichigo thinks he maybe recognizes him from school, but the guy’s eyes are hidden behind mirrored glasses, and the windows on his car are tinted so dark all Ichigo can see is the barely there gleam of the dash lights off them.

Ichigo shakes himself, then grips the steering wheel. His blood hums in anticipation.

The flag swings down, and Ichigo powers through his first shifts. His car leaps ahead of both of his opponents and blazes down the opening straight. The engine purrs smoothly and Ichigo shifts, clean and unhurriedly. He takes the first turn one-handed.

He glances from the road to his rearview mirror, and smirks as he watches Tatsuki fall further and further behind. The other car is gaining steadily, but Ichigo knows the course, and knows he can take the next corner while barely touching his brakes on the lead in. He downshifts to gain room to accelerate and hits the apex of the turn hard.

By the time he’s through the next turn, his mystery rival is barely a car-length behind. Ichigo grips the wheel and refocuses. He puts the other driver out of mind and concentrates on hitting his line through the next corner.

The other car tries to overtake him on the inside and Ichigo wrenches the wheel, making sure the other driver knows what he’s willing to do to win.

His opponent backs off.

Ichigo pours on the power through the final straight. Behind him, the other car resumes gaining ground. They cross the finish line neck and neck. Ichigo wins - barely.

They get out of their cars together. The other guy takes off his sunglasses and runs a hand through his longish black hair. He’s tall and leanly built.

“Nice race, Kurosaki,” he says, and Ichigo nods at him.

He’s familiar enough, but Ichigo still can’t place him.

He sticks out his hand. “Ishida Uryuu,” he says, and Ichigo takes the proffered hand. Ishida’s grip is firm. “You should come down to our shop sometime,” he continues.

Ichigo follows the turn of his head towards a group of people standing on the fringes of the crowd.

A ginger-haired woman smiles and lifts a hand to wave. Ishida nods to Ichigo. Renji appears at that moment and claps a hand on Ichigo’s shoulder. Ishida takes that as his cue to leave while Renji steers Ichigo away from his car.

It’s late when the post-race party finally winds down. Ichigo takes his leave of Renji and slides back into the cocooning warmth of his leather car seat. He turns the key and sits for a moment, listening to the engine – there’s something almost _off_ about the sound. He makes a mental note to remember to run down to Renji’s garage before next weekend.

Ichigo navigates back to the freeway, watching the city slide by his open window, elbow propped on the doorframe and cool night air rushing in. The city sounds like it always does – distant sirens, the hum of cars on the freeway, the rustle of leaves as a breeze kicks them down the sidewalk.

Ichigo is coming to an easy stop at a red light when he hears a yell.

It’s decidedly feminine in origin, though the words are spiced with the kind of street rat language that makes even Ichigo’s ears burn. The next yell is garbled and sounds pained. He flicks the turn signal and heads right, crawling down the block in search of the source.

Even moving at a snail’s pace, he still nearly hits the guy that walks out of an alley to his right. The guy raps Ichigo’s hood with both fists and Ichigo hits the brakes. Another guy comes walking out as Ichigo is unbuckling his seatbelt. They’re both burly, wearing all black, and – Ichigo assumes – are likely up to no good.

They stand in front of Ichigo’s car and stare at him through the windshield.

Ichigo immediately dubs them Thing One and Thing Two in his head.

“Hey man,” Ichigo starts, getting out of his car. Thing One and Thing Two track him. “Watch where you’re going –“

“Watch where you’re fucking driving, buddy,” Thing One says, and knocks his knuckles against Ichigo’s hood again. “Why don’t you get lost?.”  Thing One makes a shooing motion with his hands.

Ichigo ignores him. “Don’t touch my fucking car,” he snarls.

Thing Two raises an eyebrow and leans forward.

Ichigo looks at the hand on his hood, “Seriously, man.”

“Seriously, man,” Thing Two repeats, mocking him.

Ichigo’s hackles rise. “Look –"

“He asked you not to touch his car,” says a female voice from down the alley. Ichigo turns to look and inhales sharply when the speaker steps out of the shadows. She’s petite, dark-haired, and there’s dirt on her face. Ichigo notices she’s cradling her left forearm in the crook of her right elbow.

“Stupid bitch,” Thing One says, “Just couldn’t stay down, could you? Don’t want to hurt a lady, but I’ll make an exception for you, Kuchiki brat.” Thing One cracks his knuckles and smiles. “Especially since I know there’s nothing _ladylike_ about you.”

“Hey,” Ichigo interjects, stepping forward.

“Stay out of this, kid,” Thing Two threatens.

Ichigo scoffs. “Or what?”

It’s only from years of sparring with Tatsuki that Ichigo catches the way Thing One’s shoulder bunches. He ducks as Thing One’s fist sails past his head, and comes up swinging. His fist connects with a satisfying crunch. Thing One is knocked back a step and Ichigo shakes out his hand.

The sharp inhalation from the girl is Ichigo’s only warning before the unseen fist connects with his back. The punch propels him forward, and Ichigo teeters before regaining his footing and turning around.

Thing Two is grinning darkly at him.

“You asked for it, kid,” Thing One says, and charges him. Ichigo is ready, and uses the other man’s inertia to turn him aside and send him sprawling. Thing Two comes at him next, and Ichigo gets in a couple of solid hits before the other man’s fist connects with his jaw.

Seeing stars, Ichigo stumbles back, and barely manages to keep himself from sprawling by planting a hand on the hood of his car. He straightens. There’s blood in his mouth and he spits before wiping his lip with one hand.

“You’re a little out of your league, kid.”

Ichigo grins. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Thing One comes at him again, and Ichigo sweeps his legs out from under him, dropping him onto his back. The man doesn’t get back up. Ichigo forgets the cardinal rule of a street fight as he takes a moment to savour his victory. He doesn’t see the next hit coming until his head snaps to the side and the next punch takes all the air out of his lungs. He hits the ground, knees first.

“Told you,” Thing Two says, and Ichigo looks up at him. Thing Two is reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, and it’s as his sleeve slips back that Ichigo notices the tattoos. All of a sudden, Ichigo realises what he’s walked into is far more complicated than merely rescuing a girl from some thugs - how could he have been so blind? He’s going to die here on this street, and his father is going to have to identify his body and his sisters -

It’s the girl who comes to his rescue - she throws herself in front of him.

“No,” Ichigo rasps, “you idiot!”

The report is deafening from so close and Ichigo feels a hot spray of blood across his face. There is no other sound, and she crumples to the ground in front of him.

Ichigo closes his eyes.

There’s something cold dripping on him and Ichigo opens his eyes. Above him, a pair of dark and serious eyes framed by dark hair swim into focus. The dripping cold is rain. Ichigo can feel the wet road against his back, dampness soaking through his shirt.

“Idiot,” she’s saying, “You’re an absolute idiot.”

“You’re welcome,” Ichigo says, and her brows draw down into a frown. She opens her mouth, and Ichigo knows that look – he’s seen it on Karin’s face enough times to know she’s about to launch into some tirade – so he stops her by sitting up. The girl sits back on her haunches, and Ichigo realizes they’re both on the wet pavement.  “C’mon,” he says, pushing himself to his feet. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

Ichigo winces as he stands, and scrubs a hand under his nose. He can feel where his bottom lip is split and there’s a lump on the back of his skull. Thing One and Thing Two are nowhere to be found. The girl doesn’t get to her feet, and Ichigo notices she’s holding one shoulder with her hand, and her fingers are wet with blood.

She looks up at him, and Ichigo barely catches her before she keels over, going boneless in his arms. “Shit.” He’d forgotten. Her blood seeps sluggishly from the wound in her shoulder, and Ichigo shrugs out of his hoodie and then pulls off his shirt, balling it up before pressing it to her wound. Her eyes flutter open.

“We need to leave,” she says, and Ichigo rolls his eyes.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he says, tugging his hoodie back on. He takes her hand and presses it against his shirt. “Hold that there,” he says, “I’m taking you back to my dad’s clinic –”

“No,” she says, eyes flashing hot. “Too many questions.”

“You’ve been shot,” Ichigo argues, “you don’t get to decide –”

“Listen, idiot, I’m telling you –”

“And I’m telling _you_ ,” Ichigo says, and slides one hand under her knees and the other arm across her back. “You need medical attention, my dad’s clinic isn’t far, and no one will ask any questions, okay?”

“Take me home,” she says, and there’s a pleading note in her voice that makes Ichigo pause. He looks down at her, eyes flickering between her face and the gradually increasing crimson stain on his t-shirt. “Please,” she says, “there’s a doctor there, I’ll be looked after.”

Ichigo tightens his grip on her and gets to his feet. She is feather-light. “Fine,” he says.

She shivers.

“Don’t go into shock on the way there,” he orders, and she nods, her eyes falling shut. “Nope,” Ichigo says, shaking her gently. “None of that, keep your eyes open.”

He deposits her in the passenger seat and buckles her in before half-vaulting, half-sliding across the hood of his car. “Where to?” he asks, once he’s started the engine. The girl rattles off an address, her voice slurring into nothing by the end, and Ichigo reaches over, and shakes her shoulder. “Stay awake, goddammit,” he commands, fumbling the address into his phone and watching the route vector itself across the screen.

“Hey! Tell me your name.”

“Rukia,” she says, “Kuchiki Rukia.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ichigo says, “I’m Kurosaki Ichigo.”

“Tell me,” Rukia says, wincing as she presses her hand against Ichigo’s shirt more firmly, “Do you often get involved in street fights at two in the morning?”

“No,” Ichigo answers. He takes the next turn faster than is completely necessary. “Do you normally get beaten up in an alley and shot at two in the morning?”

Rukia laughs weakly and lapses into silence. The rest of the drive there is largely a blur, and she’s mostly passed out by the time they get to the highrise she’d directed him to. “Hey,” Ichigo says, shaking her shoulder again, “we’re here.” She stirs, and Ichigo watches her eyes refocus.

“Thank you,” she says, and fumbles for the door handle.

Ichigo grabs her hand. “You think I’m just gonna let you get out of this car? You can’t even stand –”

“I’m fine.”

“Right.” Ichigo lets her go, and she heaves the door open, before sliding out of the seat. She wobbles on her feet, but she stands. She takes a step and Ichigo has never moved so fast in his life. “Let me help you,” he says, and he snugs an arm around around her waist. They hobble to the doorway together.

The concierge leaps up from behind his desk when they pass through the revolving door.

“Kuchiki- _san_! What happened?”

“Got shot,” Rukia says. The concierge’s eye widen comically and he takes a huge breath before Rukia speaks again, cutting him off. “Sentaro- _kun_ , would you call my brother please?”

“Of course Kuchiki- _san_ , absolutely, right away.” The concierge bounds away to do just that.

“I’ll be fine now,” Rukia says to Ichigo, “You don’t need to stay.”

Ichigo snorts. “I think I’ll stick around, I’d like to make sure this doctor of yours knows what he’s doing.”

“I do, thank you. I’ll take it from here.” Ichigo starts and nearly drops Rukia. The owner of the voice has gentle eyes and long white hair, pulled back in a braid.

“If you’ll just –” The doctor gestures at Ichigo’s hand around Rukia’s hip. Ichigo relinquishes his grip on Rukia and the doctor gathers her up into his arms.

Rukia turns her head to look at Ichigo before the doctor walks her towards the elevator bank at the back of the lobby. “Thank you,” she says, and Ichigo nods. He looks down at his hands. Her blood stains his skin, captured in the ridges and whorls of his palms, and he can feel it gone dry on his face. The concierge appears to his left.

“Kuchiki- _sama_ will be down in a moment,” he says, and Ichigo looks up, “Please feel free to make use of the washroom.” The concierge points down the corridor leading off the lobby.

Ichigo takes the suggestion for the hint that it is. It’s only after he’s rinsed them off that he notices that his hands are shaking. He splashes cold water on his face and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s got  a purpling bruise across his jaw in addition to his split lip. He can feel the rest of the bruises on his torso but doesn’t unzip his hoodie to look at them – he knows they’ll be worse in the morning anyway.

He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly and carefully. He leaves the bathroom and walks back out into the lobby. For the first time, he takes in his surroundings. It’s that kind of understated high end class of a place that makes him feel awkward, even when he’s not wearing a hoodie, or a developing sunset of a bruise on his face.

The elevator dings and a man walks out. Ichigo has to consciously quell the urge to stand up straighter.

“You must be Kurosaki,” the man says, after he strides fluidly across the lobby. Ichigo nods. “Kuchiki Byakuya,” the man says, and sticks out his hand. Ichigo would have to be an absolute idiot to not notice the way the man’s suit fits like it was made for him, or the way that even though the fabric is plain, everything about it screams money and power.

Ichigo takes the proffered hand. Byakuya’s grip is confident and when he lets go, Ichigo feels like he has passed some kind of test.

“Thank you for intervening,” Byakuya says, and Ichigo shrugs. “My sister will be fine. We appreciate your help. Compensation for your time and trouble.” Byakuya hands Ichigo an envelope. Ichigo looks at the envelope and back at Byakuya.

“Uh,” he says, “No thanks – I mean, I don’t want your money, I’m just glad she’s okay.” Ichigo brings a hand up to the back of his neck. “I’ll just – I’m gonna go, gotta get home before sunrise, or my old man’ll have my hide.” Ichigo laughs nervously.

Byakuya’s expression doesn’t change.

“Thanks anyway,” Ichigo says, and steps back, intending to leave.

“You race, do you not?” Byakuya asks, and Ichigo stops. “I’ve seen you,” Byakuya continues, and brushes past Ichigo without waiting for any kind of response. Ichigo falls in step in his wake without even fully realizing it. “You drive well, but your equipment could use an upgrade.” Byakuya pushes through the revolving door and out onto the sidewalk.

Ichigo’s car sits against the curb. Low-slung and black as night, it’s all sleek lines and easy curves, and Ichigo likes it just the way it is.

Byakuya walks around the car, his expression shifting to cool assessment.

Ichigo drops a hand possessively on the roof, over the door, feeling the smooth metal under his palm.

Byakuya joins him on the driver’s side of the car. “If you will not take money, perhaps you will take this.” Byakuya reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and offers Ichigo a card. “Come down to the garage, I am certain we have something you would like.” Ichigo takes the card. It’s heavy card stock with an address embossed and nothing else.

Byakuya leaves him on the street.

Ichigo looks down at the card, and shakes his head.


	4. Abandoned Streets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as usual, to Dux for the beta. Without you, this would not read nearly as well. Also today happens to be Rukia's birthday, so I thought it fitting to get this up. Hopefully we won't have to wait until Ichigo's for the next one.

Ichigo doesn’t get the opportunity to go down to the garage until the following weekend. He brings Renji, just in case. In case of what, he’s not really sure, but he decides it’s probably better to bring a friend – a sentiment Renji echoes when Ichigo explains the circumstances that lead to him receiving the card in the first place.

The address ends up being in Karakura, and they pull up outside of the shop late on Saturday afternoon to find the place looking, for all intents and purposes, deserted.

“You sure about this?” Renji asks.

Ichigo rubs at the fading bruise on his jaw. “Yeah,” he says eventually, and gets out of his car.

Renji follows him.

They make their way across the nearly empty yard and Ichigo tries the door. It swings open easily and on silent hinges.

“Hello?” Ichigo calls out as they step into the gloom.

“It looks like the scrapyard threw up in here,” Renji says, picking his way around a pile of dusty boxes.

Ichigo casts a look back at him, and they share a grin.

“You must be Ichigo Kurosaki,” a voice says from the back of the store.

Both Renji and Ichigo turn at the sound.

The speaker steps out of the shadows and Ichigo stifles a laugh. He can hear Renji’s aborted snicker as well. The man is dressed in an old-fashioned tunic robe, loose pants and wearing geta sandals. He's also sporting a green-and-white-striped bucket hat.

Hat’n’Clogs uses his cane to tip up the brim of his hat so Ichigo can see his face, light gray eyes peering out at him. “Well?” the man asks.

Ichigo nods. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Abarai,” Renji says, “Renji Abarai.”

“Byakuya Kuchiki gave me this card,” Ichigo says, thrusting the card at the stranger, who raises an eyebrow and ignores it entirely.

“You drive?” the man asks, and Ichigo nods, dropping his arm back to his side. “Well, come on then. I suppose you’ll want to meet the others?”

Ichigo turns back to Renji, mouthing ‘ _others?_ ’

Renji shrugs.

Ichigo turns back to Hat’n’Clogs and opens his mouth to demand an answer before they're interrupted by the sound of something metal clattering to the floor.

Ichigo and Renji follow Hat’n’Clogs through to the back of the shop, the latter opening his arms in a sweeping gesture of introduction as they pass through the swinging door.

Ichigo manages, just barely, to keep his mouth from dropping open like some idiot who’s never seen a garage before.

Renji does not, and gapes openly.

The space is high-ceilinged, well-lit and probably the cleanest shop Ichigo has ever seen, except for the spill of wrenches on the floor across the bay.

An auburn-haired girl cries “Ishida- _kun_! You need to watch what you’re doing!” as she bends down to begin picking up the wrenches. The aforementioned Ishida- _kun_  – who, Ichigo realises, is his opponent from the race the other night – looks sheepish for a moment before bending down to help.

“Inoue- _san_ , Ishida- _kun_!” Hat’n’Clogs sings out, his voice carrying loudly across the space. The other two turn quickly, and Ishida stands, before helping Inoue to her feet as well. “I’ve brought visitors!”

“Welcome!” the girl calls out merrily, bounding across the shop floor. Ishida follows at a more stately pace. With an immediacy bordering on the absurd, Renji and Inoue start bonding over air intakes, cylinders, adjusting saturation ratios.

Ichigo tunes them out to focus on Ishida instead. “Good race the other night,” he says, and the other man nods.

“Kuchiki- _sama_  sent you?”

“Uh, yeah – Hey, listen, do you know if his sister – Rukia? Do you know if she’s alright?”

“Oh!” Inoue interrupts, turning from Renji to assess Ichigo. “You’re the ‘mysterious stranger'!”

“I guess? I mean, I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t do – “

“You saved her life, Kurosaki,” Ishida says. “Kuchiki- _sama_  is very grateful. She is his favourite sister, after all.”

“She’s his  _only_  sister, Ishida- _kun_ ,” Inoue corrects, punching Ishida in the shoulder before turning back to Ichigo.

Ishida winces.

“She'll be alright, Kuchiki- _chan_  is very sturdy,” Inoue declares, wheeling around and heading back across the bay. “I’ve got something back here I think you’ll like,” she adds, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Ichigo hesitates briefly before following after her.

Sometime later, the garage is thrown into commotion by another arrival.

Ichigo slides out from under the chassis of his car – Inoue had explained some interesting theories they’d wanted to test out on it – and his first view of the party in question is upside down.

Byakuya towers over his sister, and so do the phalanx of broad-shouldered men accompanying them. Rukia looks much the same as she had the night they’d met; significantly less dirty and no longer covered in blood, sure, but still with the dark hair, dark eyes, and – newly – a half-smile that does funny things to Ichigo’s stomach.

He drags his gaze away from her and sits up, wiping dirty fingers on a rag before shoving them through his hair and getting to his feet. Their eyes meet again when Ichigo chances another glance her way, and it’s the kind of held gaze moment he scoffs at in Yuzu’s  _shoujo_  rags, but he can’t seem to look away. Eventually, he forces himself to drop his eyes and look down at the cloth gripped tightly in his hands.

After a moment, he takes a deep breath and turns back to where she was, only to find that the entire group has moved off towards the front shop. Ichigo can feel the tickling heat of a flush on the back of his neck, and he heads off to the sink near the other corner to rinse his hands with a scowl planted firmly on his face.

Renji’s waiting for him at his car when Ichigo turns back around. The redhead leans against the passenger side, phone in his hand. Ichigo stifles the annoyed noise bubbling up in his throat – honest to fucking God, how many times has he told Renji not to lean on his car? – and settles for cuffing him in the shoulder when he gets close enough.

Renji throws him a sidelong glare before going back to his phone.

Ichigo leans against the car beside him. “What’s so important?”

“Race tonight – you up for it?”

Ichigo hedges. “Only just tuned her – probably shouldn’t –”

“Live a little,” Renji suggests, bumping Ichigo’s shoulder with his own.

Ichigo sighs. “Fine. When and where?”

“Downhill run, east of the city.” Renji’s voice is absent, he’s back to thumbing through something on his phone.

Ichigo scrubs his hands across his face. Downhill runs are tricky on the best nights. He’ll have to make sure to check the weather – not that the race won’t go if it’s raining, but there’s no need to end up Kurosaki paste on a guardrail.

Ichigo turns around, forearms resting on the roof. The door on the other side of the garage opens, and the crowd files back in. Inoue and Ishida are whispering quietly to each other as they head towards where he and Renji are. Behind them, Rukia peels away from the group and follows in Ishida and Inoue’s wake.

Ichigo watches her, able to because it looks like he’s waiting for Ishida and Inoue, and not like he’s openly staring at Rukia as she crosses the shop floor. For the first time, he notices what she’s wearing – her dress is a floaty blue thing that drifts in the breeze from the big fans that keep the air moving in the shop, and she’s got on low-heeled ankle boots and a leather jacket, unzipped. Her hair swings as she walks, but she’s looking down at her phone, so he can’t see her eyes.

Ishida catches him looking, and Ichigo scowls at him while Inoue looks between them, unawares.

“So,” Ishida drawls, drumming his fingers on the roof above the driver’s side door.

Ichigo bites his tongue.

“There’s a race tonight, you going?”

“I might.”

“You should race, Kurosaki- _kun_!” Inoue says, bright and cheerful. “Ishida- _kun_  is going to race too, aren’t you?” Inoue touches Ishida on the shoulder and he stiffens briefly before letting Inoue lace their fingers together.

Rukia looks up from her phone as she steps around Inoue. “Well, Ichigo?” Her eyes are an unearthly violet, and Ichigo can’t help the way his breath hitches and the way his hands flex against roof of his car.

“Ah,” he says, intelligently. “I’m glad –” his voice is hoarse, and Ichigo clears his throat – “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I won’t say thank you,” Rukia retorts.

“Feisty bitch,” Renji remarks, and Ichigo whips around to glare at him.

Renji responds with a smirk.

Rukia says nothing.

“So, Kurosaki, race tonight? Or no?” Ishida smooths over the awkward silence, and Ichigo makes up his mind.

“Sure.”

\---

Ichigo races that night and wins, screaming to a halt at the base of the hill, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest and his hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel. It’s not raining, but the road is damp from an earlier shower, and there was an awful moment in the last turn when Ichigo felt the car losing grip before it found it again.

He forces himself to let go of the wheel and brings a hand up to his face, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. “ _Shit_ ,” he breathes, drawing it out as long as his exhalation.

Later, Ichigo slinks out of Renji’s post-race party, only to find his usual haunt occupied. He comes to a stuttering halt when Rukia turns to face him, her skin luminous in the glow of the yard lights.

“Good race tonight,” she says, and lifts a cigarette to her mouth. The tip glows red as she inhales. Rukia drops her head back to exhale, and the smoke spirals away into the sky.

“Those’ll kill you,” Ichigo observes, and Rukia looks down at the cigarette in mock surprise.

“Really? You don’t say.” Rukia flicks the spent cigarette away.

Ichigo watches the glowing ember disappear into the damp gravel of the parking lot. She lights another one, and then offers him the pack. Ichigo shakes his head. Rukia shrugs and shoves it back into her purse. Ichigo stands there, hands shoved into his pockets, while Rukia smokes.

“Did you want something?” Rukia asks when she finishes her second smoke, and Ichigo opens his mouth and closes it again.

“No,” he says, eventually.

Rukia hops down off the car hood she’d been sitting on and swings her purse onto her shoulder. She brushes against him when she passes him and Ichigo half-turns to watch her go. Just before she disappears around what's left of about three different cars, she turns and lifts her hand in a wave. Ichigo responds automatically, lifting his hand to match hers, and her lips quirk up in a barely there grin.

Ichigo stays outside, staring up at the sky, thinking about short girls with cigarette smoke hair and twilight eyes who throw themselves in front of bullets for strangers for so long that Renji comes looking for him.

The next race, Ichigo loses spectacularly, spinning out early on a patch of slick pavement. Byakuya finds him there after the end of the race, still sitting in his car, exactly where it'd come to rest, snug up against the concrete sound wall that blocks the road noise from the neighbourhood next to the freeway. Ichigo looks up when Byakuya raps on his window, and it takes him longer than it should to process that this means ‘roll down the window’, but he manages eventually.

“Ishida will take you home. Your car will be in the shop.” Byakuya’s tone offers no room for disagreement and Ichigo nods dumbly.

Ishida leaves him at the end of his block, and drives off without waiting.

Ichigo sneaks in through his bedroom window and doesn’t bother getting undressed before collapsing onto his bed.

It’s the first time in a long time that’s he’s lost a race, especially in such a stupid way, and he skips school the next day to wander down to the shop to see about his car.

Inoue is up to her elbows in his engine when he arrives, and there's grease on her face when she turns at the noise he makes coming in.

“Kurosaki- _kun_!”

“Inoue,” Ichigo says, and she smiles.

“Don’t you have school?” Inoue asks, and Ichigo arches an eyebrow.

“Don’t you?”

Inoue’s face pinks briefly, but she shakes her head. “No, not today.” She turns back to his car. “You need to do something about this intake, and I want to adjust a few other things.”

They break for lunch some hours later, and she tosses him his keys. “Take her for a spin!”

Ichigo gets into his car, and waits a moment, wondering if she’s planning on joining him, but she waves him off and heads for the front of the shop.

That weekend, Ichigo wins again, and Byakuya asks him to come by the tower the following day.


	5. The Shortest Distance Between Two Points

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, a whole 'nother chapter within two months of posting the previous one? What sorcery is this? 
> 
> As always, enormous thanks to Dux for the beta - he makes this so much more readable, and he does it so kindly.

Ichigo rides the elevator up, listening to the restrained dings it gives as it passes floor after floor. When the doors open, he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans before stepping out. He feels extremely out of place here in this enclave of plush carpeting, lush tropical plants, and frosted glass.

The girl at the desk waves him on, and Ichigo doesn’t even have to knock before Byakuya is telling him to come in.

“Kurosaki,” Byakuya says, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

Ichigo sits. Byakuya leans back in his own chair, surveying Ichigo with an eyebrow quirked in mild interest. Ichigo fights the urge to clench his hands around the armrests of his own chair, dropping them into his lap instead.

“I have … a proposition for you.”

Ichigo finds himself agreeing without even waiting for Byakuya to finish asking his question – never mind that several alarms are ringing in the back of his head – and he leaves the office with an invitation to a private party and some unsolicited advice to find something nicer to wear.

The party is exactly the kind of scene Ichigo thought the Kuchiki would run in, and he shows up at the appointed hour empty-handed and under-dressed. He stands awkwardly, just inside the doorway, watching the milling crowd and ignoring the feeling of trepidation that rises in his gut as his eyes linger on the well-dressed crowd. An undercurrent of something dangerous ripples through the room as people look up to see who has arrived.

Across the room, Byakuya catches his eye and nods. Ichigo nods back, but doesn’t move. He figures they'll come find him when they want him.

Rukia rescues him ten minutes later, spiriting him through the crowd and out onto a nearly empty patio. When they get there, she hands him an impossibly delicate flute of champagne. Ichigo declines – he’s here at her brother’s request, and there had been some indication that it was his skill as a driver that was needed this evening, so he can’t be caught drinking.

She laughs at him and downs it instead. Ichigo feels like he's swallowed the whole glass anyway with the way his stomach rolls when Rukia smiles at him. She's wearing blue again, but this time it's so dark it's nearly black, and the sweetheart neckline of the dress leaves plenty of room to show off the glitter around her neck. Ichigo’s gaze is drawn, again and again, to the sparkle of the necklace against the pale ivory of her decolletage. 

Rukia catches him looking and he flushes. His initial buzz of nerves has settled somewhat, but his blood still fizzes and sparks. “Like what you see?” Rukia asks, moving closer to him.

Ichigo swallows. She’s not … wrong, really – he  _ does _ like what he sees, but she’s also his new boss’s little sister, and if that doesn’t scream ‘hands off’, he isn't sure what does.

Byakuya shows up right as Ichigo is physically backing away from temptation. He looks between them, and Rukia’s lips curl into a moue before she turns on a heel and leaves. Her shoes make a satisfying click against the paving stones as she goes.

Byakuya tosses Ichigo something, and Ichigo catches it on instinct, only realising it's a set of car keys when he opens his hand. “It’s time,” Byakuya says, and Ichigo follows him back through the party and down a discreet set of stairs.

This is how Ichigo finds himself behind the wheel of a non-descript brown sedan in a part of town other people might have called seedy, but which he just calls dangerous, with instructions to keep the engine running and to not ask any questions.

A part of Ichigo knows that agreeing to do this for Byakuya – and to keep doing it –  is a poor life choice, but there’s something to be said for the rush that accompanies every getaway race. Even the regular thrill of a won race pales in comparison to the feeling of nipping in and out of traffic, one eye on the rearview mirror and the other on the road ahead. Ichigo shuts up the protesting part of himself with the ever-increasing stash of bills secreted away in his sock drawer – Byakuya is generous with Ichigo’s cut. Street races are never this lucrative. 

As the weather starts to turn more and more firmly towards winter, Renji pulls Ichigo aside. “Hey man, whatever you’re doing for that dude – be careful, okay? There’s something not quite right here.” 

Ichigo scoffs and tells him to mind his own business, but Renji ignores him. “Look, I’m just saying –”

“Just say it somewhere else then,” Ichigo says, getting up to leave. Renji grabs his arm and hauls him back down onto his ass.

“Listen to me,” Renji hisses, “I know you’re making good money doing whatever it is you’re doing, but you need to be more careful. I was listening to the scanner last night and they’re onto the car. Ditch it before you get caught.”

“Onto the car? What do you mean?”

Renji pulls out his phone and shoves it at Ichigo. Ichigo takes the device and reads through a news article about an arson case, which is linked to three other burglaries over the last month and a half – all of them at addresses he recognizes. There’s a description of the car seen at each scene, but no information on who might be driving it. Ichigo breathes a tiny sigh of relief.

“I’m just the driver,” Ichigo says, handing Renji back his phone.

Renji looks through him. “No one is ever  _ just _ the driver, Ichigo.”

Silence settles between them and the rising wind hums through the stretching power lines as the sun sets.

 

\---

 

The growing threat of snow in the air keeps a lid on the number of races that are being organized, as well as the number of nights a week Ichigo needs to sneak out to drive for a different reason. Consequently, Ichigo finds himself at loose ends more and more often, and more and more those loose ends turn into excuses to go ‘round to Urahara’s, ostensibly to chat with Inoue about his car – what improvements they might make and whether she can get him track-ready by the spring – but really, to see if Rukia will show.

When she does, Inoue invents excuses for why they can’t work on Ichigo’s car and shoos him out of the garage, waving cheerily at them with one hand while she’s on the phone with Ishida on the other. Usually, Rukia lets Ichigo drive, aimlessly, until one of them gets hungry or has some other thing to do. She doesn’t chat, and he isn't prone to idle conversation either, so the car rides are often quiet, but the silence is never oppressive.

It’s on a blustery night in late January that Rukia asks him for his keys, and Ichigo surprises himself by giving them to her. They’d spent the late afternoon wandering through a snow-covered park before finding a tea room to warm up in. It’s after dark now, and the walk back to his car had led them through snowy streets and along windy alleys. Rukia’s cheeks are pinked with cold when she grins and gets in the driver’s side, while Ichigo shuffles around the car.

Rukia drives as well as Ichigo would expect, and so the next time she shows up at the garage – this time on a sunny Saturday afternoon – he tosses her the keys before she even asks. Rukia takes a road out of the city, climbing high into the hills, blitzing the turns as fast as the car will let her, all without crunching a shift. Ichigo realises that the swoop in his gut every time they round a corner and continue climbing isn't because of nerves about someone else driving his car, but that it's tied to the way Rukia’s grin gets sharper and sharper every time she throws the car through a gear-change. 

When they get to the shrine at the top of the hill, Rukia parks the car and gets out. She leans against the little wall built to keep the curious from falling off the edge of the lookout, and Ichigo joins her. Spring is coming; he can taste the warmth on the wind, and with it, the promise of returning to racing through the city streets. 

“Do you ever think that maybe some people are meant to meet?” Ichigo asks. Rukia turns to look at him. He reaches down and takes her hand in his. “I keep thinking,” he says, lacing their fingers together, “that I was lucky to be driving by that night.”

Rukia scoffs, but she doesn’t tug her hand out of his grasp. Instead, she turns their joined hands over, so hers is on top. “I’m still not saying thank you.”

Ichigo huffs a laugh. “You don’t have to,” he says, and Rukia looks up at him. He's surprised to find they’ve gotten so close. The distance between them would be so easy to close, and his gaze flicks down to her mouth before coming back up to her eyes. Rukia’s breath hitches and Ichigo leans in. 

His lips touch hers for the briefest of moments before he pulls back, suddenly unsure. She rocks up onto the balls of her feet and grips the unzipped front of his coat, pressing her mouth back to his.  Ichigo fists his hands around the material of her coat, then spreads his fingers across her back, and Rukia presses closer still. 

Her phone rings in a pocket of her coat, and the vibrations buzz through his shirt. Rukia breaks the kiss, and there’s a silent apology in her eyes when Ichigo opens his. He shakes his head to dismiss her concern and she steps away to take the call. As she’s speaking, she glances over at him, and Ichigo does his best not to overhear. This is clearly an unpleasant personal call, both from the way Rukia’s shoulders hunch before she huffs out of a breathy laugh that Ichigo knows is fake, and the way her eyebrows draw together.

Ichigo is interrupted from his not-so-surreptitious surveillance by the trilling ring of his own phone, and he half-turns away from Rukia to pull it out of a pocket. It’s a message from Byakuya – time, address, and a warning not to be late. Ichigo acknowledges the message and puts his phone back in his pocket. 

When he turns back to Rukia, she’s staring down at her phone, a storm-cloud on her brow. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, looking up to find Ichigo watching her. She puts her phone away, and steps toward him. “I need to get back to the tower,” she says, and brushes past him on her way back to his car. Ichigo grabs her arm as she goes by and spins her around. Rukia's eyes open wide, and he grins.

“Do I get a goodbye kiss?” 

“Idiot,” Rukia says, but she’s smiling too, and Ichigo tugs her towards him by her wrist.

This time, the kiss is like melting. Ichigo buries his hands in Rukia’s dark hair while hers burrow under his layers to find his skin. Her fingers are cold, and goosebumps ripple up Ichigo’s spine, but his body heat warms her palms in no time at all.

Rukia takes a step back and Ichigo follows her, unwilling to let her go, and they move together until her back is pressed up against the side of his car. Rukia shudders when she fetches up against the window, taking her hands out from under his shirt and raising her arms to twine them around Ichigo’s neck. His hands slide down her body, fingers stumbling only briefly on their journey to her hips. 

They kiss each other breathless, and Ichigo can taste the chill of winter on the corner of Rukia's mouth – he can feel it in the wind that rises around them before they break apart. It’s still not really warm enough to be feeling each other up against his car on the top of a mountain, but that hasn’t stopped his traitorous hands from finding their way under her shirt, or his thumbs from stroking along the soft skin of her stomach.

Ichigo lifts his head and opens his eyes to find Rukia staring up at him. Her gaze is piercing; vivid indigo lit and shadowed by the slanting sunlight as it knifes through the fast-moving clouds. “Be careful tonight,” is all she says, before she slips out from between his body and the car and goes around to the passenger side door. 

The drive back down the mountain is quiet; neither of them have much to say. 


	6. Fortune Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Ichigo! In honour of it, the plot has finally arrived. This chapter is a tad shorter than some of the previous ones, and is mostly un-beta’d, so my mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy! Let me know you’re reading!

It starts raining as Ichigo is driving to the rendezvous.

He pulls up to the curb and flicks the headlights off, but leaves the engine running. The idle rumble is low bass beneath the hissing static of the broken dashboard radio. Ichigo fishes his headphones out of a coat pocket and puts one in before thumbing through his phone to find something to listen to. He leans back in his seat and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits.

The next thing he knows, Byakuya is throwing himself into the passenger seat, yelling, and Ichigo hears the sound of shattering glass as the back window breaks. The rear door is yanked open and slammed shut as the rest of Byakuya’s men pile in. Gunfire erupts behind them. Ichigo slams the car into gear and stomps on the accelerator, peeling away from the curb as the building goes up in a column of flame. 

In his rearview mirror, Ichigo can make out the silhouettes of riders following them and gaining fast. “We’ve got company,” he says through gritted teeth, and Byakuya turns to look. 

“Keep your eyes on the road, Kurosaki,” Byakuya instructs, and Ichigo resolutely turns his gaze back to the nearly empty city streets. He ignores the sound of gunfire that goes off like a thunderclap in the backseat; ignores the way the closest bike goes down and its rider lies unmoving in the street; ignores the bullet that hits his side mirror and shatters it; and he ignores the pained noise and the subsequent, deafening silence that comes from his backseat when one of their pursuers gets off a lucky round. 

Ichigo takes a hard left and doubles back, hoping to shake off the remaining pursuers. The car rips down a side street and every puddle he hits sends up a wall of spray. The engine races under him, and he shifts gears without thinking, taking another right and heading towards the tower via an indirect path. The rain hasn’t let up, and Ichigo’s palms are sweaty against the leather steering wheel. 

Beside him, Byakuya is leaning into the backseat, having a whispered conversation with his colleague – one that Ichigo is also ignoring. Byakuya resettles in the passenger seat and Ichigo chances a glance at his face. There’s a subtle tension in the turn of his mouth, but it’s his eyes that give him away, and Ichigo looks back to the road before Byakuya has a chance to do anything other than raise an eyebrow. 

He doesn’t see the car that sideswipes them, but he hears the crunch of metal, and he can feel the exact moment the tires give out and the car starts into what, to him, feels like a slow-motion spin. Ichigo hauls on the wheel, trying to keep turning in the direction the car is going in a desperate hope for friction. He’s sure that there is some noise other than the throbbing of his heartbeat in his ears, but he is deaf to everything else. The steel superstructure of the highway overpass comes up too fast and Ichigo’s last conscious thought is of Rukia’s eyes. 

\---

Ichigo comes to with his head on something soft, and the sound of voices around him. He blinks. It’s still raining, and it's cold. Lightning flickers across the sky, and thunder grumbles in the distance. He blinks again, and tries to get up. Hands press against his shoulders. 

“Don’t move, fool,” Rukia says, and Ichigo cranes his head so he can see her. Her hair is wet. 

“Byakuya?” Ichigo asks. Rukia nods, and glances to her left. He follows her gaze. Byakuya is standing, talking to several uniformed officers, and it’s then that Ichigo notices the remains of the car. The sight of the twisted metal evokes the remembered sound of shattered glass and the nerve-shredding scream of steel against steel. Ichigo’s stomach rolls and he barely avoids Rukia’s knees as he pukes. 

Rukia scrambles out of the way and Ichigo steadies himself on hands and knees, breathing hard and grounding himself with the feel of road grit in his palms.  _ Everyone is fine _ , he thinks, and takes hold of that thought in a deathgrip. He uses it to walk himself back from the panicky edge he’s been riding since he woke up. Rukia’s hand grips his shoulder and Ichigo turns to look at her. 

“Everyone is fine,” she says, as if to echo his own thought. “Let’s get you out of here.” Rukia helps him to his feet, and Ichigo tries not to let on how shaky he feels. Her arm is snug around his waist, so he thinks he doesn’t do a very good job, but she doesn’t say anything. 

It doesn’t occur to him to wonder how she got there until they arrive at his car. Rukia leads him around to the passenger side, and Ichigo leans against the car, turning his face up to let the rain soak it. After a moment, he shakes his head and looks down at Rukia, who is watching him expectantly. 

“So,” Ichigo says, and Rukia lofts one eyebrow. “How did you get my keys?” 

“Urahara had a spare set,” Rukia answers. Ichigo considers whether to be annoyed that Hat’n’Clogs made a copy of his keys, and decides there are bigger fish to fry than that. Rukia fishes the aforementioned set of keys out of a pocket and walks back around to the driver’s side. “You’re in no shape to drive,” she says, and Ichigo doesn’t argue. 

Rukia drives, and the windshield wipers keep up a steady beat, running counterpoint to Ichigo’s heartbeat. The stereo is low, but Rukia hums along with the song anyway. She glances over at him as they come to a slow stop at a stoplight. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she says. 

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Ichigo answers. They continue on in silence. Rukia takes him back to the garage, and parks alongside her own car. 

“Come on,” she tells him as she gets out. The rain is letting up as Ichigo gets out to follow her. Rukia pushes open the door at the back of the shop and Ichigo follows her inside. 

“If you want to wash up?” Rukia suggests. Ichigo knows there’s a shower off to one side of the shop and he has a set of clothes here, just in case, so he nods. Rukia leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, and then leaves him to it.  

Ichigo stands under the hot spray for a long time, letting the heat sink into his skin. Eventually, he lathers his hair, and everything else. The soap stings where it meets open skin - he has minor abrasions on his hands from the airbag, and a shallow cut on his forehead from stray bits of glass. Otherwise, he aches all over, and knows that tomorrow, he will be stiff and that it will be worse again the following day. 

When he emerges, dressed in the spare clothes and rubbing at his hair with a towel, Rukia makes him sit on one of the wheeled chairs Inoue likes to use and digs a first aid kit out of the workbench. “The paramedics said you were okay, but you’ve got a cut here,” Rukia says, opening an antiseptic wipe and swiping it along his hairline. Ichigo winces at the sting. 

Rukia is efficient with the butterfly closures, and before he knows it, she’s finished. Her hands hover briefly around his face, like she wants to do more, or touch him again, but eventually she lets them fall to her sides. Ichigo watches her fists clench and unclench, and then she turns away, and stalks across the garage and into the front store. 

Ichigo doesn’t immediately follow after her, and instead, after walking his towel back to the laundry, he heads outside. He leans against his car, the hood still just warm, and looks up at the sky. The clouds are heavy, but the rain has stopped, puddles line the pockmarked back alley behind the shop. The initial rush of the near-miss has worn off. His fingers are cold at the ends, and there’s a tremor settling into the spaces between his ribs. Inhaling deeply, Ichigo closes his eyes. 

Behind them, the city goes by in a rain-wet haze until he takes a corner too fast and the car’s rear end slides out. The wheel under his hands won’t respond and Ichigo steers into the skid, hearing the whine of gears and the skin-crawling screech of metal on metal and the overpass is coming up so fast, there’s no time, there’s no time, there’s no time–

“–chigo?” Rukia’s voice cuts through the memory, and Ichigo sucks in a ragged breath. How did he end up on the ground? Rukia is crouched in front of him, looking at him carefully. “Are you alright?” 

For a moment, Ichigo considers lying, but she can see how his hands are shaking as he brings them up to run through his hair, so he decides against it. “I will be,” he says, which is not technically a lie. 

Rukia raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t press him. She stands and offers him her hand and he lets her pull him up off the ground. He rocks into her space as she does, and Rukia lets him crowd her back against her car. Their eyes meet, and then Ichigo leans down. 

She tastes like the rain. 

They kiss against her car, Rukia’s hands in his hair, and her body caged in by his. 

\---

In another part of the city, a man brushes ash out of his brown hair and stalks through a shadowed warehouse. Around him, stacks of crates rise to the ceiling, until he turns a corner and the space opens up. Fluorescent lights hang on low fixtures over long tables, and cast harsh shadows against the faces of the people working under them. Scales, boxes and bags fill the tables, and while there is no conversation, the people work fluidly and without hesitation. 

He gives no sign of acknowledgement to the people in his employ, and neither do they acknowledge him. At the far end of the work-space, another man slouches in an ancient office chair, his feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the desk in front of him. Across his lap, hands resting lazily on the side of the barrel, is an automatic weapon. 

“The facility in the south end has been compromised,” the brown-haired man says, voice low and dangerous. “I don’t know where they’re getting their intel, but I want the leak found. And plugged.”

The second man grins, and swings his legs down off the desk, setting the gun in their place and steepling his fingers under his chin. “You know that is my specialty,” he drawls. 

“Do it quickly, Gin, you know I am unaccustomed to waiting.” 

“As you wish, Aizen.”

Aizen sweeps back down the aisle and Gin listens to the sound of his footsteps disappearing into the shadows before he stands, and stretches his arms over his head, already turning a plan over in his mind. He’ll have Kira do a little reconnaissance, and then flush out a weak link in the Kuchiki’s organization. 

There’s always the little sister, Gin thinks, and then more darkly; she’d probably scream. 

He smiles, slings his weapon over his shoulder and heads into the walled-off office to make a phone call.


End file.
